


The Jolly Reader

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One quiet morning on the lake, Emma meets the owner of a floating bookstore and she learns to appreciate the silence of books and days far from the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jolly Reader

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon when the screen door closes behind Emma and she takes off with an easy jog, the gravel shifting beneath her neon running shoes. She leaves the earbuds at home, preferring the quiet calm of an early morning at the lake. That's why she comes to her brother's lakehouse, after all - to get away from the city and the noise and the criminals she chases down daily.

But she only manages to make it to David and Mary Margaret's oasis one weekend a month and it has been five weeks since her last visit. She needs this time in the quiet of nature. The damp morning air smells like the lake she jogs around and she breathes deeply and evenly, trying to forget the last bail jumper she chased the day before and his unseemly comments about how her style of dress was connected to the number of men she had taken to bed.

Asshole.

In truth, it had been far too long since Emma had gotten laid, and it was probably because of her getaway weekends. When she had the time, she would come to the cabin, where the nearest neighbors were families with young children who floated in the lake with their oversized life jackets or wrinkled old couples making slow circles around the lake with gnarled hands gripping one another tight.

As she gets to the far side of the lake, a boat bobbing on the water catches her eye.

Its tied up to the dock with a wide plank for an easy access to the vessel. Most of the modes of water travel around this lake are speedboats and paddle boats, pontoons and slim little sailboats. But this one is trimmed a cheery turquoise and a large sign flapping slightly in the breeze designates it  _The Jolly Reader_

Emma leaves the gravel pathway behind to veer towards the beach, the sand soft beneath her feet, and makes her way down the creaky old dock.

She knows herself well enough to realize that two days of just her and an empty cabin are going to drive her crazy. She's not used to the quiet, but to life on the move, living on the go. Cell phones and wifi and her neighbor Elsa dragging her out to bars. But her cell phone reception is shit out here and David believes that wifi at the lakehouse would be blasphemy, so Emma has to resort to the printed word. The novel she picked up last month at  _The Jolly Reader_  was finished late the night before with a bottle of wine in bed. It was a bodice ripper that Mary Margaret had read as well and absolutely devoured.

Her feet clunk on the plank as she hops onto the boat.

"Good morning, Belle," she chirps, peering inside for the proprietress. "You're open early."

"I'm an early riser, lass."

The low, accented voice comes from a man sitting behind the desk, book in one hand and a thick pair of glasses framing too-blue eyes. The sun's pink morning rays shine on his tousled dark hair and a smirk dances in the scruff across his jaw.

When her jaw drops at the the sight of tall, dark, and nerdy, he removes the glasses and the smirk deepens, revealing boyish dimples.

"You're not Belle," she spits out, sharing the first thing on her mind that is not  _Damn you're hot_  or  _Are you even real_.

"No. No I am not," he replies, eyes sparkling with merriment. "I am the other owner of  _The Jolly Reader_. Killian Jones, at your service." He stands and offers a hand, palm up. She discretely wipes her own on her running shorts before placing it in his hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifts her fingers to his mouth and brushes his lips across her knuckles, sending a shiver down her spine.

Must be a British thing.

"And who might you be?" he asks, still holding her hand up.

"Emma Swan," she twists her wrist, sliding their palms to lock thumbs and gives his hand a firm shake. "Bail bonds person."

His face lights up with excitement. "What an interesting occupation. You wouldn't happen to be searching for the lovely Miss French, would you? Because as far as I know she is innocent of all crimes-"

"No no." Emma reluctantly pulls her hand from his and laughs at the image of the soft-spoken Belle as a criminal on the run. "Just at my cabin for a weekend. Misthaven." She almost clamps her lips together when she realizes she volunteered the name of her lake house without being asked. He was going to think she was propositioning him or something.

Not that the thought of having him to warm her bed and read to her at night is an unwelcome one. She glances at at his left hand, still easily holding his paperback open, and wonders what it would be like to have those fingers trace her lines and memorize the dialogues of her gasps and sighs.

"You are not Mary Margaret."

His chuckle brings her back to the real world and she blinks in confusion.

"No I'm not."

"And you're not David."

"Right again."

"Mary Margaret and David are the owners of Misthaven. They had me over two weekends ago for barbecue."

And then the pieces click into place: the memory of Belle sharing that she and her co-owner trade weeks on the floating bookstore and Mary Margaret's not-so-subtle compliments of the clever guest who lived near the lake whom Emma just  _had_  to meet.

"David's my brother. Foster brother, actually."

Killian nods, not giving her that sympathetic look she is used to receiving when she uses  _the F word_. "So you're a regular Oliver Twist."

She smiles. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Emma leaves twenty minutes later with a grin on her face and a copy of a Charles Dickens novel.

* * *

  
After a quick shower, Emma makes up a bowl of cereal and curls up on the lawn chair in front of the cabin with her new book. Classic novels aren't usually her thing, but Killian had been so eager for her to try it out that he offered her a full refund if she thought it was  _utter shite_ . So she gives it a go, surprised to hear her stomach grumble a few hours later and find the book halfway read.  


She stands and stretches, her muscles angry at her still position, and whips herself up a quick sandwich. But the thought of sitting down again makes her back cramp up, so she scarfs down the meal while stripping off her clothes and slipping into her bathing suit. An afternoon swim will be just the thing to get her out of the cabin.

Towel in hand, she makes her way to the beach, walking carefully over the rough gravel and the sand, hot from the midday sun. She tosses the towel on a low tree branch and splashes quickly into the lake, sighing at the coolness of the water and the way it embraces her like the blankets of her bed after a long day at work.

There are kids playing on the beach several yards away on both sides, but her patch of lake is blissfully empty and she loves the solitude. But when she sees  _The Jolly Reader_ across the lake, gently rising and falling from the waves of passing speedboats she gets this strange pang in her chest and it suddenly feels  _too_ quiet,  _too_ lonely.

When her mind is overwhelmed, her body turns to action. So Emma begins swimming laps, going from the shore to the red rope designating the edge of the non-boat area. She swims until her arms are sore and her lungs burn but her mind is no longer combing through her exes and wondering what went wrong. Breathing heavily, she clutches the ladder of the dock floating in the liminal zone between swimmers and sailors.

"I didn't know there were mermaids in this lake."

Emma starts, hand clutching her heart and head flying up at the sound, sending a splash across the water.  _The Jolly Reader_  is now bobbing next to the floating dock and Killian Jones is peering down at her with a pleased expression.

She schools her face into a calm smile. "We mermaids show up in the places you least expect."

"And you plan to lure a sailor to his death, I suppose."

She grins. "With pleasure."

"Is there is any way I can convince you to let me live?"

"Afraid not," she sighs.

"Unless..." He leans dangerously across the water, an eyebrow quirked. "What if I were to offer a mermaid dinner on me?"

Emma is suddenly aware of the tangled hair plastered to the sides of her face and the faded pattern of her bikini top. And earlier in the day she was surely blotchy and sweaty from her run. Is this man only attracted to women with bad hair and minimal clothing? She gives him a wary look. "What kind of dinner are we talking about?"

"A fish fry at my place. I caught a few this morning." Emma notices the woven basket hanging from the side of the boat. "And I am an excellent chef."

She considers the adorable smile lighting up his face and the memory of twenty minutes of clever flirting in the morning. So before she can think too hard or ask any stupid questions or embarrass herself further, Emma nods and feels her own lips curl into a shy smile.

"Sure."

* * *

  
Another shower is in order, and this time Emma camps out in the bathroom to do her hair and makeup, rituals that she usually leaves behind back in the city. Mary Margaret keeps a curling iron and blow dryer here and Emma's makeup bag somehow ended up in her suitcase,  _thank the gods of dating for that one._ She finds a sundress with her clothes as well and a suitable pair of Mary Margaret's heels appear. Its weird how her heart is drumming as she pulls her bug up to the address Killian had given her, a one-story house ten minutes away.  


The door swings open and he smirks. "I was starting to wonder if you would really come, love." But then he gets a good look at her and he starts, his own jaw dropping a bit, and Emma cannot help the smug smile that forms, nor the rising of her own eyebrow.

"If you're going to stare, you can at least tell me how hot I look."

Killian blinks rapidly, coming back to himself, and the bravado returns. "I am sorry. You are right, you are quite ravishing." The way his tongue curls around his final word has heat rushing to Emma's thighs and she thinks once more about the benefits of having a lover in the country for weekends.

She licks her lips and he pauses again, eyes tracing the movement. "How about we start with dinner and save the ravishing for later?" she asks.

His eyes darken and he quickly escorts her inside his home, tidy to a fault, where a table for two has been set up in a living room overflowing with books.

"You take your work home with you?" she asks, nodding to all the tomes.

"My work is my life," he replies, gesturing to the shelves. "Where I go, books go."

"I leave my work in jail, if I'm lucky."

* * *

The fish is delicious, fried with a crispy breading and so tender it falls apart in her mouth. When they finish their food, her fingers are slick with grease and butter, her stomach is pleasantly full, and her head is slightly buzzing from the three glasses of white wine and the intoxication of his sharp wit and constant innuendos.

It has been ages since she has gotten laid, but even longer since she has had such a good date. Killian is drop-dead gorgeous, but he's also smart and funny and surprisingly caring. He is an attentive host and there is something about his manner that tells her that if she didn't want to take this evening any further than the chocolate cake he made for dessert, he won't be a total ass about it.

That's probably why, when he offers her a hand to stand up, lamenting about the lateness of the hour, she gets a grip of the soft weave of his dark blue sweater and draws his lips to hers.

He tastes like the chocolate cake and she moans at the sweetness of his tongue sliding against hers and the firmness of his fingers, one hand at her waist and the other buried in her hair. She walks him backwards until he tumbles onto the couch, her legs on either side of his hips. His mouth moves down her jaw and finds her pulse point. "This is-" he murmurs against her skin, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

"-totally gonna happen," she whispers.

Killian sighs in contentment, his exhale tickling her neck. "Are you sure, love?"

Emma rocks her hips downward, finding his growing hardness and they let out twin groans. "Very sure, sailor," she gasps, digging her fingers into his hair. "Now please stop thinking, its going to give you wrinkles."

* * *

The dawn is orange, and Emma blinks in confusion at the direction of the sun's rays and her sudden jolt from sleep until her eyes fall upon Killian's bare back at the edge of the bed, shrugging on a shirt and lacing up boots. She sits up and scoots forward to wrap her arms around his waist and although she knows he was aware of her movement, he doesn't turn around. He simply lets her come to him and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Good morning," she sighs, a little dazed but knowing that he is warm and he is solid and he made her see more stars the night before than humanly possible, even this far away from the city lights.

"Good morning, love," he whispers, a hand covering hers and his head falling back a bit to nuzzle hers. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a dream." She burrows closer. "Where are you going? Its Sunday."

"People still read on Sunday," he chuckles. "I need to get out on the lake."

Emma digs her forehead against his shoulder. "Sunday is a day of rest. You should be  _resting_."

He finally turns and captures her face with his hands, anchoring her in place, and those bright blue eyes are illuminated by the light of the sunrise, making her breath catch in her throat. Not because of their color, but because of the softness of his gaze and the sudden realization that he doesn't see this as a one night stand either.

"Somehow I doubt that you are considering resting, Swan."

Emma tries to recover and banter back, but she feels like being honest for once. "Please stay," she manages, swallowing the sudden thickness in her throat. "I like being here with you."

His eyes search hers for a moment and she can pinpoint the moment when he realizes that this is neither a simple nor a usual request for her. He nods infinitesimally before toeing off his shoes and guiding them back under the covers.

"C'mere, love," he whispers gruffly, tucking her against him. "Let's you and I stay here for a little while."

It takes another half hour for the sun to rise completely and neither of them speaks. She breathes in the scent of him and memorizes how it feels to be held in his arms. Finally, after a few hours of dozing in and out of consciousness, she makes them two bowls of cereal and allows him to get go to work.

* * *

The next weekend, she comes back to the lake and they spend the whole time in his house, reading books and talking and making love and sitting in this strangely comfortable silence.

Emma has never been good with the quiet.

But she's learning.


End file.
